


All Reason Aside, I Just Can't Deny

by tristesses



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting/Marking, Consent Issues, F/M, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Dom/Sub Dynamics, Porn With A Side of Worldbuilding, soulbonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Darcy likes being an omega! She's just a cynic about the soulmate thing, but statistically speaking, she's never going to find hers, so who cares? As for Loki, the disturbing thought that he could be inadvertently bonded with a mortal from the very planet he wants to conquer never crossed his mind, but if asked, he would claim it was impossible. </p>
<p>Unfortunately for both of them, they're completely wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Reason Aside, I Just Can't Deny

**Author's Note:**

> There are some A/B/O fics that thoughtfully examine, analyze, and subvert the trope. This is not one of them. This is, in fact, slightly cracky idfic with a healthy dose of het knotting porn, and I hope it is delicious.
> 
> The consent issues tag refers to the inherent mutual dub-con in heat-driven sex, and you can assume that most of the other kinks usually found in A/B/O 'verses are here, too. (And if you're unfamiliar with what A/B/O is, a nice primer can be found [here](http://a-b-o-ladies.livejournal.com/1317.html).)
> 
> The Asgardians in this 'verse use the words Ascendant/Mediant/Abject in place of Alpha/Beta/Omega, because apparently my suspension of belief breaks when Norse gods use Greek terms.
> 
> And, lastly, the title is from the Britney Spears song [Criminal](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6b33PTbGxk).

**I.**

Darcy is thirteen when the news breaks. 

THE SOULMATE GENE, the newspapers blare. GENETIC LINK TO TRUE LOVE FOUND. ALPHAS AND OMEGAS BOUND BY FATE. Yeah, it's only alphas and omegas that carry the gene, leaving betas to wander around, hoping to find love the old-fashioned way. Sucks for them.

It's all anyone can talk about for the whole school year, because they're teenagers and romance is all they care about. Her friends, or at least the ones who've already aligned as alpha or omega, spend a long time dreaming about The One, and how they'll just find each other like something out of a rom-com, and how amazing it will be once they're together. Darcy spends a lot of time rolling her eyes. She isn't so hot on science, but she does get statistics, and these are basic: six billion people in the world, only a handful of potential soulmates with compatible genes or hormones or whatever, and it's not like it's guaranteed that said compatible genes are going to show up in the same place, or even the same continent. Chances of actually meeting your soulmate are a trillion to one, and Darcy doesn't care much for those odds. Anyway, it's not like it matters. Darcy's a beta; she hit puberty years earlier than anyone else she knows, which is around when your alignment shows up, and by the time she's in tenth grade she's wearing a D-cup and being mistaken for a grad student when she walks around town, with nary a heat or a rut in sight.

Figures that in this one, stupid thing, she'd be a late bloomer.

You know how in Judy Blume books, the teenage girl has her first period in class and has to run to the nurse to get those retro belt-pad combo things? Well, that's how Darcy figures out she's an omega.

It starts the night before. She's itchy and restless and feels feverish, but her mom checks her temperature and tells her that she has to go to school tomorrow even if she has a chem quiz, no faking sick allowed. Even though she hasn't done that since middle school. Darcy steadfastly ignores her mom when she points out that middle school was two years ago. _Whatever_ , Darcy thinks. _Two years is_ forever.

So she goes to school, feeling weirder and weirder with each hour, and it all comes to a head in fourth period gym. She's in the girls' locker room, changing into her running shorts and baggy t-shirt, when she catches the eye of Heather Cortez, who's popular and really hot and hasn't spoken a word to Darcy since they were both in Mrs. Archer's fifth grade class, and something in Darcy just breaks. Later she'll remember that omegas in heat give out pheromones so alphas know they're fertile (even though the thought of having babies at her age is just _ew_ ), but at that moment, Heather Cortez is pressing her against the lockers with her tongue in Darcy's mouth and her hand on Darcy's boobs and Darcy is gasping and quivering under her hands, and the gym teacher has to pry them apart while the beta girls in their class gawp at them.

In the nurse's office, two shiny pink pills are dumped in Darcy's palm, and she's instructed to take them and go stand under the cold shower until she feels okay enough to walk home. That takes a while. Then she goes home, her mother takes her to the doctor, Darcy gets her very first prescription for heat suppressants, and she and Heather Cortez continue their established trend of not speaking to each other.

"And that's it," Darcy says, waving her hand with its precariously balanced shot glass in the air. "That's the story of How I Found My Alignment, by Darcy Lewis. Please, hold the applause, I already know I'm a great storyteller."

"I don't know how you deal with it," Jane says, fascinated, and matches Darcy shot for shot. For such a tiny person, Jane sure can hold her liquor. "Going into heat and everything - I mean, I'm sexually frustrated enough already, and I'm a beta."

"It isn't that bad," says Darcy, feeling a need to defend her kind despite how she always complains about it. "What's the statistic, one in four is aligned alpha or omega? That's not, you know, _insignificant_ , and we manage all right."

"Yeah, but…" Jane shakes her head, then her eyes get all bright and she asks, "So _have_ you thought about meeting your soulmate?"

"Yeah, I've thought about it." Darcy pours them another round of tequila, and reminds herself that there's two steps on the way out of Jane's trailer, not one. Just in case. It's not like she's planning on getting wasted or anything; that's definitely Jane's job tonight. "I think it's bullshit, is what I think."

"Darcy! It's not just a hypothesis or, or a theory, it's a proven fact," Jane insists, and Darcy snorts.

"Okay, first off, I don't even want a soulmate. I mean, it's stupid, right, expecting someone to be perfect for you just because their genes match up with yours, because they could be totally awful and you just don't know. And secondly - " She holds up an imperious finger, then hastily rearranges that to two. "Secondly, not only are there the six billion people on the planet - "

"Closer to seven," Jane murmurs.

" _Whatever_. Seven billion people on the planet, and now we know there's at least one entire species of alien gods or whatever out there, so what are the odds - oh no, Jane!"

Because Jane is crying, crying like she's been trying not to for the week that Thor's been gone. Definitely not the thing to bring up.

"Way to go, Darcy," she mutters to herself. "You get a gold star!"

Jane is trying valiantly to muffle her tears, looking both devastated and totally indignant at the same time.

"This is so stupid," she says miserably. "I only knew him for three days, but I just - I can't - "

"Oh, honey," Darcy soothes, and pulls Jane into a big hug. "Just let it out. Your BFF is here for you."

"I hate chat speak," Jane moans into her shoulder.

"God, you're a square," Darcy tells her, and hugs her tighter.

 

**II.**

"Nothing can keep me from her!" a hot blonde with fake boobs is exclaiming tearfully to a dashing Hispanic man who's glaring at her with his arms crossed. "It's destiny, Roberto! We are meant to be!"

"Redundancy alert! That's what destiny means!" Darcy yells at the screen. "You people are frickin' idiots."

"Are you seriously watching that?" Sitting at the desk across from her, Lee Anne, the other data monkey and Darcy's after-work cocktails buddy, pointedly looks at the screen and back to Darcy. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I am working!" Darcy protests. "See, I'm a spreadsheet queen." She shrinks the video player and turns her laptop so Lee Anne can see the screen. "It's not my fault data entry is so boring I can do it and watch soaps at the same time. Want me to mute it?"

"Nah, it's okay. And you'll get better work once the boss knows you're solid."

"I sure hope so," Darcy sighs, and turns back to her data entry. She gets why S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to keep an eye on her, but she's got a poli-sci degree from Culver University, which is not exactly an easy thing to get, and she's capable of doing more than typing out Jane's latest data into a spreadsheet. She minored in communications, she should at least be a PA or something.

Across from her, Lee Anne keeps glancing up, and finally Darcy gives in and drags her chair over, tucking her laptop under her arm.

"Now we can both watch," she says, satisfied.

"I really shouldn't," Lee Anne demurs, with absolutely no heart behind it at all.

"C'mon, it's great!" Darcy points at the fake-boobed blonde. "This is Mia. She was dating this guy named Cliff for ages, but _then_ she met the mysterious and sultry Lucinda - "

"Mysterious and sultry?" Lee Anne breaks in, and Darcy punches her in the shoulder.

"Hey, don't knock my voiceover. Anyway, as I was saying, she met the _sultry_ and _mysterious_ Lucinda, and their attraction was so strong that it broke through Mia's suppressants and she went into heat right then and there. And then Roberto who's Lucinda's brother caught them in the act, so now Mia has to explain to him that they're soulmates and also she's pregnant with Lucinda's baby."

Somewhere along the way, the two of them completely forget about data entry, and end up taking an hour-long lunch with a mojito or two more than a government employee should probably have, but it's not like Darcy can be fired for it and Lee Anne's in the same boat (some mysterious thing with shapeshifter aliens; Darcy hasn't asked for details), so why not indulge? All in all, it's the best workplace she's ever had, and (depressingly) the most intellectually stimulating. Darcy can't complain.

So of course, right when she's the happiest she's been since freshman year of college, something happens to completely destroy her world, and that something is Loki.

****

. . .

There is a persistent itch under his skin, a restless uneasiness that pervades his being and shatters his concentration. Its very existence is driving him mad; not only has his preventative spell been broken by some trifling Midgardian magic, but he must be subject to the mad desires of his own traitorous body as a result. It has been centuries since he's felt the mating drive; lest he do something truly stupid for the sake of mindless lust (again), he had learned to dampen it years ago. Oh, he can still sense it, yes, but in a dull way, as easy to ignore as the beginnings of a headache when he's bent over his books. There was no loss to be had, anyway, for he has never felt the need very strongly - an oddity in a sorcerer of his strength, to be sure, but what is one oddity among dozens?

And yet.

In the middle of a bustling crowd of mortals going about their mayfly lives, Loki catches that scent again, feels it on the back of his tongue and as a wave of heat in his spine and stomach, and he loses his train of thought entirely. He wraps his jacket tightly around his torso and shivers, gritting his teeth. No, he had never felt the need strongly, but now, on Midgard, it is practically consuming him. His lack of control grates on him. He is distracted, anxious, needy, and he wants -

Oh, that _scent_. Loki goes perfectly still, a hunter's stance, and raises his head to the wind, his nostrils flaring. To the mortals around him, he seems uncanny, wolfish, a creature not to be trusted, and they will draw away from him without knowing why. Loki cares not; he is coming closer.

Clad in mortal clothes as his only concession to disguise, Loki moves with the flow of the crowd on silent feet. People are blind, regardless of the realm, and Loki knows he will not be recognized; they will remember the armor and the helm from his last visit to Midgard, not the man beneath it. He is free to hunt as he will, and now he has the trail. And oh, he is so very close. He can taste it. 

Here at the corner he takes a sharp right onto a more sparsely populated street, and the scent of her fills his nose - yes, _her_ , for the being that draws him so is certainly a woman. A _mortal_ woman, though Loki cannot address that fact right now, his body being decidedly unconcerned with the objections of his fogged mind. Loki waits in the middle of the block, sinking into the shadows of a looming building, and then he sees her, chattering with another woman as they walk. He _sees_ her, and Loki's blood surges.

She is lovely, he can ascertain that much. Dark hair, pale skin, a succulent mouth, expressive hands, her fingers tipped with blue varnish. Loki stands paralyzed, fixated; he wants to bruise that fair skin, put his mouth on her neck, run his hands over her body until she is shaking and pleading. He wants to take her, as he is meant to do, but he is well aware that he can hardly do it in the middle of the street, without her consent - Loki is a monster, this he will acknowledge, but he never developed a taste for unwilling partners. No, this requires subtlety.

The blonde Ascendent by her side takes her arm, sliding it through the crook of hers possessively, and Loki, defending what belongs to him as instinct urges him to do, ignites.

He melts from the shadows and is before her in a heartbeat, flinging the blonde aside as he grabs his mortal and shoves her against the wall. She stares at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open, a flush rising in her cheeks. Loki caresses her throat, his thumb slipping over the quick beat of her pulse, and inhales. She is absolutely intoxicating. Loki shudders and presses closer, trapping her between his arms, wanting nothing more than to throw her to the ground and make her scream his name.

"Oh god," she says, in a small, high voice. "Oh god, oh god, it's you."

"Yes, it is," he croons, and leans down to press his lips to the corner of her mouth. She gasps, and he feels the flick of her tongue against his lips. "You needn't fear me, mortal; only give yourself to me."

"Fuck," she whispers, and her hand steals across his chest, tentative, fingers brushing against his neck and twining in his hair. "This cannot be happening. No."

"Yes," Loki corrects, and he captures her mouth in a kiss.

She moans, lips parting, and fairly dissolves into his arms, one hand clutching the lapel of his jacket, her back arching to receive his touch. Loki pulls her flush against him, biting at her lower lip, his arm wrapped around her waist and his grip on her jaw bruising, and when she pulls away he forces her head back 'round to look her in the eye.

"Don't look away from me," he orders, and rubs his cheek against hers before nipping her earlobe, possessive. His blood sings, and Loki is overwhelmed by her scent, the taste of her lips, the thought of how she'll taste elsewhere, and his arm tightens around her waist until he is certain no one can take her from him.

"Please don't," she breathes. Loki dismisses this, pinning her to the wall, pressing his thigh between her legs until she gasps and rolls her hips, seeking friction. Her hand unclenches itself from his lapel, futilely pressing flat against his chest, and this time her voice is firm. "I said stop!"

Somewhere in the haze of lust his mind has become, Loki registers this, and he leans back, studying her face. There is anger in the lines of her face, and she puts on a front of bravery, but there is fear in her eyes; if Loki said it doesn't arouse him, he would be lying.

That is when someone shoots him in the leg.

It's a small thing, this bullet, and would usually be a mere inconvenience, but the aim is true and it glances off the bone before ripping through the meat of his calf, leaving a hairline fracture in its wake. Loki yelps in pain and staggers back. Fuming, he spins around, favoring his bad leg, and sees the blonde Ascendant, bleeding from a head wound and pointing a gun at him, her lips set in a straight line, her stance clean and professional. Loki bares his teeth at her.

"Is it a fight you want?" he spits, and draws his armor from the aether, swirling it around him until he is clad in glittering gold and green, a steel-tipped whip buzzing with enchantments in his hand. "Then a fight you shall have, but you shall never have her."

"Put the weapon down and let Darcy go, Loki," the blonde calls out, her voice even. "I have backup coming. You're injured and outnumbered. Don't make me shoot you again."

Behind him, his mortal squeaks. _Darcy_. Loki twitches, half-turning to glance at her, and the gun cracks again. 

"Lee Anne!" Darcy shrieks.

This time the bullet hits his armor and bounces off harmlessly, but Loki does not care. Darcy had said the wrong name. Only his name is suited for those lips, and he is torn between making Darcy very aware of that fact and tearing the blonde to pieces.

In the end, he does neither; his focus sharpened by the impending fight, he can hear the helicopters drawing nearer, and though he could escape from the mortals' custody easily enough, it would be far simpler to leave and find Darcy again later in the night. He has her scent, knows her name and her appearance; she won't be hard to locate.

Loki spins and drops to his knees next to her, wincing at the grinding pain shooting through his leg.

"Darcy," he states, and she flinches. Leaning in, Loki kisses her forehead and murmurs, "I will come for you."

"What?" she says faintly, but Loki does not answer; he has already stepped back and disappeared.

****

. . .

Darcy hasn't actually faced an alpha without the aid of her heat suppressants since that incident with Heather Cortez, which was so terrifyingly intense that she never wanted to repeat it, even if it is the centerpiece of her spank bank. But that moment still has nothing on those two minutes with Loki.

By the time S.H.I.E.LD. comes and hauls her away for questioning, Darcy is coherent again and she's mostly stopped trembling, but that's about as good as it gets. The rest of her _aches_ , her nipples are hard and tender, and every time someone touches her, even just the slightest brush of skin, it's a live wire from her skin to her pussy, and she has to stifle a moan by biting down hard on her cheek. Even that pain feels good, though, and god, Darcy is dripping wet, her underwear is literally soaked, and all she can do is sit there with her arms crossed in front of her protectively, squeezing her thighs together rhythmically and praying she doesn't actually orgasm in front of everybody.

"Can I have my emergency meds, please?" she asks pathetically, and no one answers until someone in hospital scrubs tells her that her hormones are too unstable right now to risk any suppressants. Darcy tries to ask why her usual suppressants didn't work in the first place, but no one answers her then, either. She has an inkling, but she denies it. What are the goddamn chances?

His words echo in her head - _just give yourself to me_ \- and Darcy thinks about his hands on her body, half-closing her eyes and rubbing gently against her chair before she catches herself and stops, going bright red. She chews on her cheek and tries to keep calm. If she's right, all the heat suppressants in the world won't save her now. 

She holds it together through debriefing and getting poked at by doctors (by the time they're done, she's mostly desensitized to touch), but then an RN comes to draw her blood, and Darcy remembers how she'd learned the word "phlebotomy" back in ninth grade and thought it was hi- _lar_ -ious. That memory of her kid self not having to worry about heats or alphas basically makes her fall apart. No gross crying as of yet, but hysterics? Oh, yeah. It's not even entirely because of the felt-up-by-a-supervillain thing, since that would upset anyone, but because she hadn't _done_ anything. She'd just - _stood_ there, and muttered a few token protests while she thought about absolutely nothing but getting his dick in her ASAP, and she feels totally, completely pathetic. If Lee Anne hadn't shot him, Darcy doesn't know where she'd be right now. She really doesn't.

"Hi, Darcy."

"Well, speak of the devil," Darcy says, and stops chewing on her cheek. She leans back in her chair as Lee Anne slips into the room. "You know, they told me this wasn't an interrogation room, but if you look around at the décor, I think they're totally lying."

Lee Anne looks around at the blank walls and single light fixture, and says, "This is definitely an interrogation room." She perches on the table and gives Darcy a solemn look. "How are you holding up?"

"I am great. Totally fine. One hundred percent okay with being sexually assaulted by a supervillain," she jokes, trying to cover up the hysteria that's rapidly building up in her chest again, but at Lee Anne's worried look, Darcy puts her hands over her face and definitely, absolutely does not start to cry. Lee Anne comes around behind her and hugs her awkwardly.

After a few minutes, Darcy says thickly, "Are you okay? Because of me and the, uh, the heat…"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Lee Anne says, patting her on the head comfortingly. "All aligned S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have to take suppressants. I can barely feel it."

"Oh. Okay," Darcy says. So that's why no one else has hit on her in the past however many hours she's been stuck here. That's a relief. She pulls herself together and manages to ask without her voice doing anything awful, "Since when are you a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, huh?"

Lee Anne winces. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she says apologetically. "I was assigned your case when they brought you in, and I had to keep my cover."

This makes Darcy feel approximately one thousand times worse. "So everything - you know, when we hung out and stuff, that was just you keeping up your cover story?"

"No!" Lee Anne sounds alarmed. Darcy, feeling a little vindictive, is okay with that. "No, I really like you, Darcy. I consider you a friend." She slumps onto the table again, and adds, "I'm just a junior agent, you know. It's not like I'm the Black Widow."

Darcy has a brief, surreal image of the Black Widow eating chips and watching soaps with her in the employees' lounge, and decides that's way too intimidating to think about. She'd met Natasha Romanoff once, and turned into an uncoordinated blob. At least with Lee Anne she feels like she's on semi-equal footing.

"So you actually are a giant dork, and not just pretending to be one?" she asks finally, and Lee Anne sighs.

"You still holding that _Twilight_ thing against me?" she asks, sounding martyred.

"Hells yeah! You always go on about how you hate cliché alpha-omega romances, and vampires, but then you go and say _Twilight_ is one of your favorite books? Unironically?" Darcy shakes her head in mock disappointment. "Own your guilty pleasures, girl."

Lee Anne takes the bait, and they end up arguing about _Twilight_ for almost thirty minutes, thankfully taking Darcy's mind off anything but rebutting Lee Anne's spirited defense of sexy alpha Edward and pretty omega Bella before the doctor comes in again.

"Ms. Lewis?" he says, then looks at Lee Anne. "I'm afraid this is a confidential session, Agent. I'll have to ask you to leave."

Darcy meeps in protest, feeling suddenly, grotesquely vulnerable (and she realizes that's because Lee Anne's an alpha and Darcy _needs_ her there, which just sucks in every possible way), but Lee Anne nods and slides off the table.

"See you later, Darcy," she says briefly, giving Darcy a tight smile. Darcy makes some sort of grimace in reply, and watches longingly as the door shuts behind her. The doctor waits patiently until Darcy huffs a huge sigh and turns to face him, lacing her fingers together and putting her hands in her lap.

"Okay, Doc," she says. "Gimme the news. And remember I majored in the humanities, so please cut down on the doctor speak."

The doctor doesn't bother with anything as silly as a bedside manner, which Darcy appreciates, not really being in the mood to deal with small talk. Or being nice in general. He touches the screen of his tablet and begins, "Using the blood you gave us, Ms. Lewis, we analyzed the pattern of your genes and compared it to the records we have of Loki's DNA." Oh god, here it comes. "Even accounting for the discrepancies caused by his, ah, unusual genetic structure, your conjugal alleles are a match."

The doctor spins the tablet around to face Darcy, who stares at the colorful graph with the expression of someone slowly realizing she's in a horror movie. The doctor waits for her to react.

"Conjugal alleles is a stupid name," she says finally.

"Ms. Lewis," he says, still calm and professional, fucking S.H.I.E.L.D agents, god. "You and Loki are compatible."

"I heard you the first time," Darcy says, and leans over, putting her head between her knees. You're supposed to do then when you think you're going to pass out, right?

Darcy had thought this might be the explanation for her shitty, shitty day, but she'd still been hoping against hope that she was wrong. Figuring it out beforehand doesn't help one bit. She hears the doctor get up and say into his radio, "Get a bed ready for Ms. Lewis, please."

"No, no, I'm fine, you don't have to do that." Darcy takes a ragged breath and sits back up. The doctor eyes her doubtfully for a moment before telling the person on the other end of the line, "Cancel that. She's stable."

Stable might be exaggerating it. Darcy says, in a voice that's definitely not a question, "So that's why my heat broke through my suppressants."

"Yes," the doctor confirms, and Darcy says only, "Well, _fuck._ "

"Well," he says, after she's silent for a minute or so. "You'll have to wait out the rest of your heat without chemical interference, so I recommend that you go home as soon as possible. Consider it time off."

"Yeah, I'll have a blast," Darcy mutters.

The doctor takes her temperature and her blood pressure, and sends her off. Darcy picks up her things from her and Lee Anne's shared office and slowly makes her way out of medical, meandering home. Alphas stop in their tracks and stare at her, nostrils flared, and she gets more than a few catcalls from the ones who think picking up omegas off the street is a thing that happens, but Darcy just curls her fingers around her taser and plods doggedly onward.

So Loki is her soulmate. Out of all the fucking people in the universe, Loki, the crazy dude who believes every human should submit to his will and has zero problems with burning down a town with a giant metal monster to annoy his brother. Fucking _Loki_. No, it couldn't be some random alpha from China, even though that's way more statistically likely. She never would've even met the man if Thor hadn't been banished to Earth like a dumbass. Yeah, it's definitely Thor's fault. She'll have to tell him next time she sees him. If Loki doesn't kill her for talking to him, that is; somehow she bets Loki was that kid who didn't let anyone play with his toys.

Toys. Out of all the words to use.

When she gets into her apartment, she flings aside her keys, scrambles out of her jeans on her way to her room (nearly tripping over herself on her way there), and flops down on the bed. If there's anything Darcy's good at, it's sleep, and she's out like a light in a matter of minutes.

She dreams of Loki.

In those dreams, there's no hesitation, no interference, nothing but her and Loki in a vaguely-defined room, writhing together on a bed, with Loki's hands pinning her wrists above her head and his thrusts shaking cries from her lips, so hard they hurt and it's so good, so fucking good being fucked like this, _claimed_ \- 

And she wakes up, tangled in her sheets with her pillows thrown on the floor. She flails, trying to get her bearings, and when she realizes she's alone, Darcy moans in frustration and flings herself face-down on her bed. Feverish, that's how she feels, feverish, sweaty and overheated with chills running down her spine, but instead of sick she feels _empty_ , throbbing and needy. Darcy kicks her sheets off the bed and shoves her hands between her legs, twisting so she can thrust her fingers inside her cunt and rub her clit with her other hand.

"Oh, god, fuck yeah," she pants, and grinds down on her hands. She's four fingers deep and that's usually more than enough for her, but it's not this time, not at all, she needs - she wants - _fuck -_

She feels more than sees a flicker of movement in the room before her bed dips and a hand slaps over her mouth. 

"Don't scream," he whispers. "I won't hurt you." 

Darcy shrieks in reflexive shock anyway and collapses against Loki's chest, all fight taken out of her at his touch, the more sensible part of her brain shutting down and giving over to pure sensation. Bliss. Sheer fucking bliss, Loki's hands rough on her body and his teeth biting into her neck, marking her, and Darcy thinks she can _smell_ him, a strange half-taste in the back of her throat, overwhelming and insistent, and with each breath she takes it works on her like a roofie, telling her to obey. She squirms helplessly, gasping as Loki rucks her shirt up with one hand and dips his fingers below the waistband of her soaked underwear with the other.

"God!" she whines as he squeezes her breast, pinching her nipple before soothing it with the pad of his thumb, mimicking the slow circles with his index finger sliding gently over her clit. Loki laughs in her ear, a hoarse, wild laugh, and drags her even closer against him.

"Darcy," he says, his voice frantic and breathy, "sweet Darcy, I could smell you halfway across the city."

Without any ceremony, he shoves her forward so she's on her hands and knees, which feels so right she can't stand it. With a moan, she arches her back, splaying her legs wide, presenting herself to him.

"Like a bitch in heat," Loki murmurs, gentler this time, almost fond despite the words, and takes a handful of her hair, yanking her over and toppling her on her side. "And you are, aren't you?"

Darcy cries out at the brief shock of pain and twists on the bed, reaching for him as he grabs her by the hips and pulls her close. He looms over her, trapping her under him, cupping her face with both hands and sliding one thumb inside her mouth. Darcy sucks on it, turning her head and closing her eyes, and Loki lets out a shuddering breath.

"I can feel your heart racing, Darcy," he breathes. "I can hear your pulse, taste your sweat."

"Touch me," she pleads, and a pleased smile curls his mouth.

"As you wish," he says, and kisses her. And oh, god, is it a kiss, demanding and unyielding. He licks into her mouth, teeth digging into her lower lip. Darcy's never had a thing for biting like Loki clearly does, but she absolutely loves it now, and whines in protest when he pulls away, propping himself on his elbows.

"You _are_ eager," he says, smug, and she grabs him by the hair and drags him back down to meet her lips, slinging her leg around his hips as he wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her off the bed and into his lap. His erection is huge and hard against her thigh, and Darcy groans, thinks of him fucking her as hard as he did in her dream, thinks of his knot swelling inside her and the way it would stretch her, hitting her o-spot with every movement, wonderful and painful and everything she's ever wanted.

"Bold little thing, aren't you?" Loki whispers when she finally lets him up for air, dragging his nails down her back, and somewhere along the line her clothes completely disappeared, which should probably worry her but she really can't find a fuck to give.

"Don't hear you complaining," she gasps in response, and kisses him again, sloppy and uncoordinated before dropping her mouth to his throat. His fingers tighten on her hips and he forces her to grind down against him, and the feeling of her clit rubbing against his leg combined with how goddamn badly she needs him to fuck her is going to drive her crazy. 

"Please," she sobs into his shoulder, clutching his biceps like she's going to fall over if she lets go. "Just, fuck, I need - "

"What do you need, Darcy?" he hums into her ear, and she smacks his chest.

"Please!" she cries out, nearly inarticulate, and why won't he do it, she wants and she _needs_ and she'll do anything he asks if he'd just _do it_. "Need you, stop teasing, I wanna take your knot - "

"Ah," Loki breathes, and Darcy feels him shudder. "Ah, Darcy, _yes_."

This time, Darcy feels the magic as Loki's clothes vanish, a hot tingling that does nothing to relieve the fever under her skin. Then Darcy is pressed against Loki's bare chest, skin-to-skin, his cock sliding deliciously between the wet folds of her cunt, and she only has a glimpse of his burning eyes before he lifts her up and thrusts her down onto him, not giving her time to adjust before he flips her onto her back and just _fucks_ her, without finesse or care, panting. Darcy throws her head back and moans, low and throaty, and completely surrenders.

She's read a hundred romance novels and seen reams of knotting porn, but she never once imagined sex could ever be like this. Loki is everywhere, pinning her down with his weight and caging her between his arms and the scent of him is like a drug, the way his cock stretches her out and fills her up is absolutely sinful. Loki is murmuring to her, filthy things Darcy can only barely hear, and a teeny-tiny part of her is wondering if she should be concerned about this whole thing, but Darcy doesn't care; this is where she _belongs_. There is nowhere in the universe she'd rather be than here, with her alpha.

"Mine," she moans, spreading her legs wider and canting her hips to take him even deeper. A little smile plays across her lips, and she says again, " _My_ alpha."

Above her, Loki laughs, and then the sound trails off into a groan as he twitches hard and shoves himself as deep inside her as he can get, gasping, and inside her, he starts to swell.

"Oh my god," Darcy hears herself say, babbling, "oh my god, Loki, Loki, you're knotting me, oh Loki - "

" _Jà,_ " he sighs, and clutches her close, nuzzling against her neck, his teeth scraping over her skin. "Darcy, _jà_ ," and he keeps talking in some language she doesn't understand. And inside her, his knot is growing, and when his voice breaks and he thrusts against her, a tiny little movement, coming again, it rubs right against that perfect, glorious spot, and Darcy screams. And then Loki does it again, and again, and she convulses under him, her hands clenched into fists and her toes curling hard in the sort of crazy, blinding pleasure that no beta orgasm in the world could compete with, and - and -

Darcy whimpers and shakes, and she's never been so glad to be an omega in her life.

****

. . .

Oh, how he loathes her. Little Darcy, frail Darcy, pathetic, _mortal_ Darcy. She is unworthy in the extreme, decidedly far from special even by Midgardian standards, yet Loki can think of nothing but having her, courting her, lustful and eager to please. Curling even tighter around her sleeping body, he stifles a moan in her hair.

All his life, he has watched the Ascendant play at dominance and aggression, but it is the Abject who truly hold power in their hands; should Darcy so much as crook her finger at him while in this state, Loki would come running, ready to please or protect as necessary to keep her safe and satiated. For some ludicrous reason, Loki had thought it would be different for him, but it appears not; he is just as much a thrall as any Ascendant to his mate.

Darcy shifts at his side, and Loki's hand flutters to her hair, her mouth, her waist, his breath catching in his throat as she presses herself to his chest. Turning his head, he nuzzles at her neck, dragging his teeth over the beat of her pulse, leaving marks. Dogs do much the same when they mount their bitches, Loki knows, and the sheer indignity of it is enough to make him want to scream.

As Darcy moves, drowsily returning to wakefulness, that same scent that had driven Loki mad earlier in the day drowns him again, and when she rolls over to face him, he is already half-erect, waiting for her to lie back and take it as is her place. Darcy, of course, is not willing to make this easy for him.

"Loki?" she asks, her voice rough with sleep. "Oh. Oh shit." Her hand finds its way to his chest, skittering over his ribs, and she tugs him closer, her breasts pressing deliciously against him. "I was hoping that would be a dream."

Insolent little chit.

"Were you anyone else, I would kill you," he tells her in a low, harsh voice, and enjoys the little gasp this startles from her lips, her sudden tension in his arms, even as he draws her on top of him, knowing perfectly well he could do no such thing.

"Yeah, well, if I was someone else, I don't think we'd be in this position in the first place," she says breathlessly, brave and so very foolish. Her eyes are glazed, and Loki can feel the wetness of her sex upon his stomach as she straddles him, leaning down to kiss his lips. She opens her mouth to him as he tangles his hands in her hair, and the last vestiges of objectivity flee his mind entirely.

"I find it curious," he murmurs against her mouth, "how eager you are to sit astride me."

"Huh?" She pulls back slightly, and Loki takes advantage of the space to sit up, wrapping an arm around her waist securely.

"Yes, indeed," he affirms, and kisses the point of her jaw. "Tell me, does it bring you comfort? Some illusion of control?"

"I don't - "

He overrides her, tightening his grip, leaving bruises. "For an illusion is what it is, Darcy; you could have me bound and gagged, and still I would claim you. Know that I am stronger - " A kiss to her pulse, where marks from his teeth still glow. Darcy sighs and tilts her head back, a clear invitation. " - faster, and so much crueler than you could ever be, my Darcy, and things will go much easier for you."

"You are so good at dirty talk," she moans, and shifts her hips to press her cunt along the length of his swollen prick.

"I was _threatening_ you," he manages to say in vague irritation as his self-control slips away and he flings her onto her back, his annoyance swamped by mindless lust as she reaches between them and curls her fingers around him, rubbing her thumb along the slight bulge of his knot. "I was - I - "

"Yeah?" she asks throatily, and truly, she is maddening, tousled and red-lipped, his bruises and bite marks all over her throat and breasts, her succulent cunt so ripe and ready for him. She props herself up on her elbow, reaching for him. "Yeah, keep talking, I want - "

Loki snarls and grabs her by the throat, pinning her to the bed and looming over her. He kisses her, all teeth, cutting her lip on his incisor, and rubs his cheek against hers, marking her with his scent. She goes limp and pliant beneath him, submissive, and when he glances at her face, he sees her eyes are half-shut, her expression strangely content.

"What you want doesn't matter," he growls in her ear, and she shivers. He ruts against her, his prick sliding in her slickness. "This is about need, Darcy, simple need, and what _I_ need is you, on your back or your knees, and however much you try to hide it, that is _exactly_ what you need, too, isn't it, Darcy?"

"God," she whimpers, and he rolls her over, baring the pale lines of her back, the luscious curves of her buttocks. Her hands ball into fists, gripping the sheets tightly. "God, yes, yes, I need, Loki, I _need_ \- "

"I know," he breathes, nudging her thighs apart and stroking her lips with the tip of his finger. She shrieks, muffling it in her pillow, and thrusts her hips toward him, begging. "I know, Darcy, and I'll give it to you, this I swear."

He's trembling, his racing blood painting his body with fever, the sensation of her skin against his so delicious it verges on excruciating, and Loki keeps his word.

The first thrust wrenches a disgraceful cry from his lips, and his hips stutter, slamming into her brutally without any skill or finesse, but Darcy writhes under him and whines his name, a note of hysteria in her voice, and Loki does it again, again, overcome. She is so hot inside, so unbearably good, her scent like a drug, and she is _his_ , all his. Loki grabs her by her hair and drags her close, and tells her so.

This is enough for Darcy; she twitches and spasms, coming on his cock, and Loki is gone. He forces himself as deep inside her as he can go, spilling his seed as his knot swells, locking him to Darcy as surely as any chains could bind them. He collapses on top of her and holds her close, whispering her name as small convulsions wrack his body, jarring little moans from his throat.

"Darcy, Darcy, mine, all mine," he chants, and she arches her back and groans his name in response.

His.

****

. . .

They fuck twice more over the course of the night and thrice during the next day, and two mornings later, the fever broken, Loki extricates himself from her arms and leaves on silent feet, never looking back.

He only regrets it once.

 

**III.**

Her alarm goes off, and Darcy wakes up alone. Her sheets stink of sweat and sex, and she's sore in all the right places. Most importantly, she's not in heat anymore. She rolls to the side to grab her phone, and sees it laying halfway across the room, the display lit up mournfully. So she has a few messages, huh? That should be motivation to get out of bed. Unsurprisingly, Darcy doesn't. She flops back down, flings her arm over her face, and tries not to freak out about the past day and a half.

She should report this to S.H.I.E.L.D. She really needs to; this isn't about her and her alpha, this is about world security. Loki's a threat. Loki is evil, for fuck's sake. He'd threatened to _kill_ her. 

And in the middle of a delirious bout of orgasms, he'd told her he loved her. 

Well, sure he would, he's the god of lies. Darcy knows that. She also knows the same instinct that makes alphas protect their omegas can compel an omega to blindly trust their alpha, even if that alpha isn't such a good person, like, oh, _a supervillain_. But omegas aren't idiots who'll do anything for love, Darcy doesn't believe that soulmates means anything but complementary chemistry, and she _does_ believe in mind over matter.

She means to tell S.H.I.E.L.D. She really, really does. But when she goes into work, it's one thing after another, the work gossips and the paparazzi (which Darcy really should have expected, since Loki decided to claim her on a public street, like he thought that was a great idea or something), and somehow, she never does.

But it's not like he's going to come back. Darcy's pretty sure he'll figure out how to turn off the bond right away; he definitely wasn't excited about being there in the first place, and what good is magic if you can't fix something as simple as this?

So, back to work, back to normalcy, and S.H.I.E.L.D. shuts down the paparazzi by pointing them to other things, like the sordid, celebrity-studded, and probably totally false saga of Tony Stark's love life, and a few days later, the kraken in the harbor.

Days pass without anything else bizarre happening. (Well, besides the kraken, but that's not going to shock New Yorkers, come on.) The other folks she works with do tend to give her weird looks around the metaphorical water cooler, thanks to the rumor mill running rampant, but Lee Anne, still pretending to be a data monkey, glares them away. ("Is this some alpha bullshit or something?" Darcy had demanded. Lee Anne had snapped back, "No, this is some friend bullshit, Darcy.") So Darcy keeps on keeping on, processing Jane's data, fending off Jane's worried phone calls, and eating a little more Häagan-Dazs than is strictly necessary. She steadfastly refuses to think about Loki, about how she's probably breaking all sorts of laws by not telling S.H.I.E.L.D. that he came for her, or how a traitorous part of her hopes he'll come back. No, she doesn't think about any of that. There are loads of hot alphas and betas for her to channel her sexual frustration towards in the meantime.

(Except she's forgotten everything about Heather Cortez or any other person she's slept with in favor of fantasizing about Loki, his fingers and his teeth and the way he crushed her against the wall and the bed and how he grabbed her throat like he owned her and he knew it, and oh, Darcy _liked_ it.)

Those days blend into a month, and all of Darcy but that stupid, sex-addled part she refuses to listen to is relieved beyond relief when all that happens at that time of the month is the same twitchy feeling she always gets with her suppressants. Okay, maybe it's a little worse than normal, but there's nothing else, no insanely hot demigods coming for her, so slowly, incrementally, she begins to relax.

****

. . .

Six months later, and Darcy can definitely say that things are getting weird again.

Her heats are bad and getting worse, for one. She's not on her usual twenty-day cycle anymore, ending up closer to one heat every other week. Meaning that she's stuck in a hormone-dazed spiral of feverishness and discomfort for at least two days twice a month, making her all but useless at work and totally unhappy everywhere else, and to top it all off, her suppressants aren't really doing their job, either, courtesy of Loki's freaky space pheromones screwing with her body. And she's been having _dreams_. Dreams like the one she'd had right before Loki popped into her room and proceeded to blow her mind in the sexiest and creepiest ways possible, except these feel so real she's sometimes surprised to wake up without bruises.

Sitting on the subway on the way home from work, Darcy finds herself pressing her fingers into her thighs where marks from Loki's fingers would have been, had he actually been in her bed last night. It's that time of the month again - the _second_ time of the month, which is just great - and she'd waited until 2 a.m. to board the train, counting on the late hour to give her an empty car. Well, there are a few other people in here, but she's pretty sure they're betas, since they aren't reacting at all to the flood of pheromones Darcy's drenched in. So not only did she manage to finish all the work she's going to miss over the next few days while she waited at the office, but there won't be any asshole alphas on this ride, either. Score! At least something went right today.

"Darcy: 1. Heat cycle: 0," she mutters to herself as she slips her earbuds on, putting her iPod on shuffle and turning up the bass. Letting her head thunk against the window, she sighs, and closes her eyes.

The hum of the train is nice, a steady vibration under her that walks the line between soothing and arousing, which is exactly what Darcy needs right now to keep herself in check. Mounting strangers on the F-train is not exactly the proper behavior of a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee, data monkey or not. Or of a decent human being, for that matter. Unless they want it, too, and right now, Darcy could totally go for some nice beta cock or fingers or tongue, whatever they feel like giving her, until she can get home and dig out her dildos and really go for a ride…

Suddenly, Darcy realizes she's squirming on the seat, clenching her thighs together and trying to get the seam of her pants to rub her in just the right place. She freezes as soon as she realizes what she's doing, and quickly glances to her left to make sure the betas on the other side of the car haven't noticed. It doesn't look like they have, so Darcy heaves a sigh of relief, and turns to face front again. 

And screeches when she comes face to face with Loki, all dressed up in his armor and sitting on the bench seat as if he belongs there, like evil Norse gods take the subway home all the damn time. (Well, for all she knows, he _does_. Just because she's never seen him here…)

"Ma'am?" one of the betas asks her, concern in his voice. "Are you okay?"

"I - " Her jaw works, and she yanks out her earbuds. _There's a supervillain sitting right there!_ "I mean, I - "

"To them, you're alone," Loki informs her with a sneaky little smirk on his face. Oh.

"Yeah," she says with forced enthusiasm to the beta. "Yeah, I'm fine - just fell asleep, had a dream, you know how it is."

The beta subsides, and Loki says, his voice laden with disdain, "You human Abjects certainly go into heat frequently. I wonder how you manage at all."

Darcy opens her mouth to retort, then remembers that she's having a conversation with an invisible man. Hastily, she digs her cell phone out of her bag and holds it to her ear, glaring balefully at Loki the entire time. He just stares at her, a penetrating look that verges on a glare but ends up more in the territory of thoughtful. Darcy really isn't a fan. Darcy also wants to drop to her knees in front of him and suck her alpha's cock like a good omega.

This confrontation isn't going to go well for her, is it?

"We do all right," she says defensively, silently yelling at her lizard brain to _shut the hell up._ "And frankly, it was a lot easier for me before you came to town."

Loki's lips thin, and he snaps, "I assure you, had I a choice, I would never have debased myself with the likes of you."

" _Debased_ \- wow, buddy, are you _trying_ to get tasered? Because I don't think even a god can shake off 50,000 volts in the face!"

Loki is looking at her with the strangest expression, half-incredulous and half-amused. "Are you threatening me, Darcy? You?"

"Yes, I am," she says, holding her chin up and curling her fingers around her taser, tucked away in her bag. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Loki stares at her for another few second, still as can be, during which Darcy's grip on the taser loosens minutely, then suddenly he's _right next to her_ , looming over her with one arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Whoa!" Darcy yelps, and drops both her phone and taser. God, she'd forgotten how he smells, that stupefying scent that makes her knees wobbly and and slams her hormones into overdrive. She tries to lean away from him and ends up just pressing closer against him, tipping her head back against his shoulder and baring her neck to him. "Oh, this is _so_ not cool, fuck."

The other passengers are making alarmed noises and standing up in surprise, but Loki flicks his hand at them and they fall to the floor in a dead faint. Since one of them is snoring, Darcy doesn't think she needs to worry, which is good because Loki just nibbled on her ear and made her mind derail completely. The world is lucky she's not a superhero.

"I am going to do nothing about it," Loki murmurs, and she's not imagining the anger laced through his tone. "As you know very well. I couldn't harm you if I tried." 

His grip on her shoulder changes, and he grabs her jaw to force her to face him, his eyes burning a hectic blue-green. 

"I hope you appreciate just - " He punctuates this with a kiss, and Darcy flails a little, incapable of either pulling him close or pushing him away. " - how - " This time, Darcy drags him to her by one of the zillion straps on his jacket, and Loki kisses her deeply, intensely, before pulling back and finishing, " - very lucky you are."

Like an idiot, Darcy says, "I didn't turn you in to S.H.I.E.L.D."

On the other hand, that actually makes Loki jerk back in surprise, which isn't something she'd ever thought she'd see, so maybe it was worth it, stupid or not.

"You didn't?" he asks, and he sounds confused and so weirdly human that Darcy just has to kiss him again, this time managing to crawl into his lap. Her glasses get in the way, and he takes them off with nimble fingers and drops them carelessly to the side. Oh well. At least she's not totally blind without them.

"No," she breathes, and rocks her hips against him. A snippet of something he'd said to her before flies through her head - _does it give you some illusion of control?_ \- and okay, he actually has a point there. Because if there's one thing she doesn't have when it comes to Loki, that's control. "No, I didn't."

"Why?" He unbuttons her office slacks and slips his hand between her legs, and she moans embarrassingly loudly and any paltry resistance she was putting up crumbles. His hand is still outside her underwear, but she's rutting up against him and panting anyway. God, she is royally screwed, and not in the good way. (Maybe in the good way.) "Darcy, tell me why."

That note of command in his voice makes her obey like nothing else could, and she tilts her head up and kisses his chin.

"You're my alpha," she says simply. Loki just blinks at her, and again, it's so weird to see him off-balance at all, and knowing it's because of her is…well, it's pretty cool, and a little endearing. "Kvetch all you want, but you aren't the only one made to feel things you don't want to feel."

"I suppose I'm not," Loki says thoughtfully, and pushes the cotton of her underwear completely aside so he can find her clit with two fingers and play with it until she's squirming and gasping brokenly into his shoulder. He's toying with her, and she claws at his chest and whimpers, but her body can only hold out so long, and right before she comes he pulls away - literally, _right_ before it, the wave was starting before he stopped it so rudely. It's probably a good thing for her reputation as a smart-ass, though; there are only so many variations on "You fucking tease!" she can come up with without a dictionary, and repeating herself just sounds stupid.

"Enjoying yourself?" Loki asks her, and the universe is really unfair if he's half as composed as he sounds. Darcy huffs a sigh and smacks her forehead against his shoulder.

"This is so not fair," she groans. "Are you even affected, like, at all, or is it just me?"

She feels him swallow, and his fingers on her hips flex, digging deep into her skin, before he draws her closer, pressing her flush against him and making her straddle his hips, and - oh. Well. That answers that question.

"Never mind," she squeaks, and turns her head to press his face against his neck, breathing him in. Instinctively, she rocks her hips, and her eyes flutter shut at the friction. "You're a really good actor, you know that?"

"Darcy." Now Loki's voice is a growl, and without really thinking, Darcy leans back and strips off her shirt to leave only her lacy, barely-there camisole and her bra, obeying his unsaid command. He makes a little choking noise in this throat, and says hoarsely, "That wasn't what I was going to suggest."

"Oh," Darcy says, finding it damn near impossible to care. "Well, I think it's a good idea, so if we could maybe…"

This time, she feels her clothes vanish, Loki's magic dancing over her skin like little sparks of static electricity. It feels good, way more than makes sense, and Darcy says out loud, "Wow, I could get used to that."

"You will," Loki promises, all hesitation gone and his voice dark ( _like chocolate_ , Darcy thinks inanely). "Darcy, kneel. I think I would like to see how deep your throat is."

"Oh my fucking god," Darcy says, or some garbled version of it, and drops to her knees like there's a prize waiting for her on the subway floor. Loki's hands are shaking as he unlaces and unbuttons and does whatever else he has to do to get his dick out (Asgardian clothes are _seriously_ impractical), and then it's out and it looks delicious, so Darcy leans forward and licks around the head of his cock like it's a popsicle. Hey, it's a cliché for a reason. And it makes Loki say something that sounds suspiciously like her name mixed in with some good old-fashioned swearing, so even if she wasn't loving every second of this and so horny her thighs are wet, she'd count it as a win.

Normally, she'd take her time, give Loki the blowjob of a lifetime and show him why her dick-sucking skills were renowned far and wide throughout the small clique she'd hung out with in college, but Loki twists her hair in his hands and directs her head where he wants her to go, and he really does want to go deep. His hips jerk forward and completely fill Darcy's mouth with his cock, her lips stretching around it, and when he pushes her head down she chokes, saliva filling her mouth. Loki pauses just enough for her to get her gag reflex under control, then shifts a little, bracing his feet on the floor so he can fuck her mouth properly - and he _does_ , he fucks Darcy's mouth and just takes her like it's his due, and Darcy gags and bobs her head and grabs his thighs for balance. There are tears in her eyes from his cock smacking the back of her throat, and she adores it, wants it harder, and Loki must sense that because he knots his fingers in her hair and lets her be still so he can take what he pleases, utterly remorseless, and Darcy is humming and moaning and on her knees for her alpha and she _loves_ him, fuck, she loves him.

Suddenly Loki lets go, but Darcy keeps moving, wanting every inch of him inside her, and she doesn't stop until he pushes her back, sending her sprawling.

"Unless you particularly want me to knot your mouth," he explains at her stricken look, and clears his throat. He's flushed red and the collar of his getup is undone, baring a tantalizing glimpse of his throat and collarbone. Darcy kind of wants to kiss him there.

"Yeah," she says belatedly, tearing her eyes from his throat to look at his face. "Yeah, no, that'd be bad. TMJ."

His brow crinkles like he's trying to figure out what that means, but he must decide there's more important things going on ( _obviously_ ), and gestures for her to come back up. She clambers onto the seat and presses herself to his side, nuzzling his jaw.

"Did I - " _do good?_ the sentence finishes, but she really doesn't want to sound that needy, so she stutters, and says instead, "Did you like that?"

"I did," he says, and that hitch in his breath plus the praise makes her shiver and go warm all over. "Now, come here," and he grabs her roughly and flips her around so she's on her hands and knees, her ass toward him and the steel armrest of the bench in front of her.

"Are you gonna fuck me?" she asks, going all high-pitched.

"Would you like me to?" he purrs, and she whimpers, thrusting her hips toward him like that can make him move faster.

"Yes," she moans, "yes, yes, please, _Loki_."

Something about the way she says his name makes him shudder, and just like that he shoves himself inside her. Since she'd spent all her time getting him revved up, he's going way harder and faster than she usually likes it, but when she's in heat she needs something totally different, she needs to have it hurt just a little and to be fucked by an alpha - by Loki, her Loki, just like she's his and oh, _oh_ -

Darcy shrieks and grabs blindly at the armrest when he comes, the swelling of his knot pushing her over the edge into something that's almost an orgasm but not quite, a little too intense and painful in the best way possible, and Loki slumps over her, biting mindlessly at her back and shoulders while he quivers, his hips jolting against her as he comes again and again.

And that is when, in the most inconveniently-timed metaphor possible in the universe, the train pulls into the station, and the doors slide open to give what looks like half of New York a nice eyeful of Darcy Lewis and Loki-the-supervillain tied together in bonded bliss. Or would have, anyway, but Loki? Well, he can teleport.

Sucks for the pervs of New York.

****

. . .

Gods rarely sleep. Most enjoy it, true, but they are capable of going weeks and months without. Loki never has been much for rest, usually preferring to spend his time in the library or, as he grew older, searching for magical artifacts, and he'd lost the habit years ago. Darcy, on the other hand, seems to sleep all the time, even more than average mortals. It cannot be illness - Loki would have noticed by now - nor does she seem particularly lazy, though Loki is being generous with his definition.

Darcy snuffles in her sleep and nestles closer to his side; Loki rolls his eyes, and though he tries to prevent it, a fond smile creeps across his lips.

"This is absurd," he says in halfhearted annoyance to the empty room. Lust is tolerable, bonding is an unhappy necessity, but Loki never wanted to _like_ the woman. His pheromones, however, seem to think otherwise.

Absentmindedly, Loki flicks a lock of her hair out of his mouth, and tightens his grip on her minutely. It could be worse, he supposes. At least she has never directly tried to kill him, nor he her, as far as he could remember. Loki has had affairs with more inauspicious beginnings.

The fact remains, however, that her friends and colleagues do have an unfortunate habit of getting in his way; he has made no friends here, least of all with _them_. A burst of rage flares inside him, and it takes him several minutes to tamp it down, his breathing ragged, jaw clenched, and his eyes smarting with fury. At his side, Darcy shifts, responding perhaps to the sudden tension in his body, and says his name in a drowsy mumble.

"Go to sleep," he orders quietly, and nudges her back into unconsciousness with a silent incantation. He needs to think, and Darcy is far too alluring awake for his mind to function properly.

As far as he can tell, he has two options: continue to slink in the shadows, returning to rut with Darcy once a month and hope no mortal heroes find him; or make peace with them the best he can, the better to see Darcy more frequently. His lip curls at the thought, but the desire is inevitable; they are bonded. He may dislike it, but he can do nothing about it - unless he manages to break the bond. Such a thing has no precedent, and is often claimed to be impossible, but Loki has always scoffed at such limitations. A compromise, then. Make peace with the motley bunch of heroes, and work on a way to sever their bond in the meantime. It is not a plan Loki particularly likes, but he will learn to cope.

"Loki?"

Shoving aside those thoughts quickly, Loki props himself up on an elbow and looks down at Darcy. She peers up at him, blinking sleepily. "Where are my glasses?"

Ah, her spectacles. Loki's lids fall half-shut, and he concentrates on the ugly little box in which he had found Darcy, picturing precisely where he had dropped them. In moments, they materialize in his hand, and he presents them to Darcy, who takes them with a smile. Without thinking, he smiles back.

She should not have this effect on him.

"Thanks," she says. "How're you?"

"Well enough," he answers. Already her scent drowns him, and Loki wonders dizzily if they will ever manage to make it through a coherent conversation. "And yourself?"

"I'm good." She looks contemplative for a moment, then smiles again, broadly. "This is totally weird, but you know, I'm really good."

Looping one long leg around his hips, Darcy pulls him on top of her, and curls her hand around the nape of his neck. Loki leans down and presses his lips to hers, soft, verging on gentle, though he cannot help but nip her bottom lip lightly. His chest feels bizarrely tight, and he cannot help but smile against her mouth, breathing her in. Oh, he is truly lost.

"I would think you'd be sore," he murmurs, and she laughs.

"Totally," she sighs, arching against him. "But I don't want to stop."

Loki slips his hand between their bodies, finding her sex and stroking it just to hear her gasp, and, unexpectedly, tells her no lie. 

"Truly, Darcy," he whispers, "neither do I."


End file.
